Mirrors
by Deceit By Any Other Name
Summary: A collection of seperate drabbles, one-shots, and poems about Ciel, Sebastian, Lizzy, and the people who surround them. Updated way too often.
1. Not My Own

**Disclaimer: Black Butler/ Kuroshitsuji and all of its characters belong to the lovely Yana Toboso.**

**:::A LITTLE NOTE BEFORE WE START:::**

**"Mirrors" is essentially going to be a series of oneshots/drabbles/poems I update on a semi-regular basis. Requests are welcome, and I will consider each one seriously. However, I will not write about the characters of Kuroshitsuji II. **

**A lot of my inspiration comes from music, so I state related songs at the beginning of each chapter. You should really check them out :)**

**I'm really looking for feedback on this, so please try to tell me how I'm doing. Reviews are very much appreciated.**

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**The music for this chapter was "Kingdom Come" by the Civil Wars and "Exit Wounds" by the Romanovs.**

**A great big Thank You to percabeth17, who kindly beta'd this for me. You're awesome!**

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Not My Own

Ciel had never really thought about death.

He had known what it was, of course. Ever since that day, back then, before everything fell apart.

If Ciel remembered correctly, he'd been about seven. It was...hunting. Yes, hunting.

It was the day after his birthday. Lizzie and her family had spent the night in some of the mansion's numerous spare rooms, but the Marchioness was the only one up so early. She'd met him in front of the stables with his father. Yes, now it was coming back to him.

When he'd turned seven, Ciel had told his father and his aunt that, as an almost-grown-up, he should be allowed to join them on their monthly hunting trip. But the scary Marchioness had scoffed and called him both presumptuous and a child. Even though Ciel didn't know what "presumptuous" meant, it still stung.

Still, he'd stood his ground and begged to go anyways. It was his birthday, after all. She couldn't be mean to him on his birthday, right? Vincent had laughed and patted his son on the head. "Of course you can come," he'd said. "After all, all grown-up Phantomhives should know how to hunt." He and his sister exchanged a wry glance.

"Hunt, indeed," the Marchioness muttered.

Ciel's father had decided to schedule their trip for the next day, at dawn. The hunting grounds were reasonably far from the estate, so it had been established that they would travel there on horseback. Even then, he renembered, it had been a long trip.

When dawn had finally come, Ciel and his father met Lady Frances in front of the stables. Vincent had picked Ciel up and carried him inside, despite the boy's sputtering, blushing indignation. Then he'd seen the horse, and stopped mid-tantrum.

It was of an impressive stature, and stood at more than five times his height. The stallion's powerful muscles rippled under its glossy chestnut coat, and his thick mane flowed gracefully down his neck. The horse whinnied and pawed at the ground imperiously, and its liquid eyes stared the boy down condescendingly, as if it doubted the child could ever muster the courage to mount it.

Even then, Ciel would not back down from a challenge. He looked to his father, and he lifted him up into the saddle before following suit and joining him. Since Ciel's feet couldn't reach the stirrups, Vincent had been the one to steer the horse through the thick woods towards the hunting grounds as Lady Frances darted in and out of sight on her graceful white mare.

Once they'd reached a secluded stretch of land, the hunting party had split up. Ciel had chosen to stay with his father instead of his scary aunt. They'd wandered about the woods shortly before stopping in a small clearing. Ciel smiled in amazement: it had been beautiful, with its lush green grass and thick dark firs. The summer breeze's gentle whispers had almost lulled him to sleep when he'd heard it. A gunshot.

A dark shape plummeted down to earth.

Ciel was confused. He hadn't seen anything. What was going on? Then Vincent had dismounted, and picked the dark thing up. It had been a pheasant. One so small it must have just left the nest. Its bright brown and orange feathers had been stained with bright, sticky blood.

The boy hadn't understood. Why wasn't it moving? It was hurt, but it couldn't be hurt too grievously. Why wasn't it flying away? He'd looked to his father for an explanation, and gotten a sad smile in return.  
"Ciel", his father said softly, "sometimes, when something gets hurt, it can't get better. Its soul goes away to Heaven, and it doesn't come back. That is what happens when something dies".

"Dies?", Ciel had echoed. His father had confirmed it. Ciel had stared at the pheasant in his father's hands. Dead. The word tasted funny in his mouth, like something rotten. He wanted to spit it out. "Dead".

Yes, Ciel had known what "death" was. In time, he'd grasped other concepts. There was "murder", when a person made another person "dead". There was "war", where lots of people "died" to protect their country and each other. There was "famine", where "death" was induced by a lack of food. There was also "old age", when a person had lived too many years and their body decided it was time to "die".

But they'd all seemed so far off.

"War" was fought in far off lands by people he'd never heard of. There was always food ready and steaming at the table when it was time for supper, and "famine" had never dared to rear its ugly head anywhere near the Phantomhive estate. He'd never met his grandparents, and the people he met at the few parties he'd attended weren't old enough to be afflicted with "old age". And "murder", well, that was unimaginable. People simply _didn't_ do that to one another. It was unthinkable, impossible.

Death did not concern him, and he moved on with his life.

Ciel didn't remember it until three years later.

It had been the night of his tenth birthday. He'd woken up, and everything had been on fire. He'd run for his parents, for the comfort and security they would surely provide. Of course, he'd never doubted they were safe. After all, "fire" was harmless. It was inoffensive, a warm, softly flickering light that stayed in the furnace and the hearth. It was pretty and kept him warm when winter's harsh chill assaulted the English countryside. This particular "fire" wasn't exactly in the furnace or the hearth, it was a little too warm, and it emitted large clouds of thick, black smoke that stung his eyes and filled his throat. Still, it couldn't really hurt anyone, much less make them "dead". After all, that just wasn't what "fire" was supposed to do. People "died" because of "murder", because of "famine", because of "war", because of "old age", but certainly not because of "fire".

But when he'd reached his parents' room, they weren't moving. They weren't trying to escape. They were just... sitting there. Their eyes glazed over and unfocused, their jaws slack and their faces expressionless. His mother didn't respond when he tugged at her arm, and his father didn't shush him when he began to scream. It was as if they were empty. As if their _souls_ were... gone.

Ciel had suddenly remembered that moment, three years ago, when his father had explained "death". Sometimes, when people got hurt, their bodies didn't get better, and their souls had to leave. They didn't come back. He froze. His parents couldn't be dead. Death was something that happened to other people, to strangers, or to pheasants in the woods. It certainly didn't happen to his parents. It didn't. No. No. _No_!

But before he could think about it anymore, the bad people came. Their hands wrapped around his waist, slapped over his eyes, and pressed a cloth onto his nose and mouth. It had smelled sweet, and everything had gone black. He'd woken up in a cage.

In the months after the fire, Ciel adamantly refused to believe that they were dead. It didn't matter what the bad people did to him. They could beat him, or burn him, or brand him, or starve him. It wouldn't matter, because his parents would come and make the bad people go away. They would save him, and they could, because they were very much alive. Death was for other people.

And then they raised a knife on him. At the beginning, he hadn't been scared. Even if they stabbed him, he couldn't die. And then his parents would come, and they would take him away. It would all be over. But they did stab him.

It hurt like nothing he had ever experienced before. He was cold, so very, very cold, and yet he burned. His body was freezing over and bursting into flames all at once. Pain radiated out of his chest in slow, agonizing waves. But it didn't matter. His parents would come, and God would help, and make the bad people go away, and he'd be all better.

Nothing happened.

As his life slowly bled out of him and he began to lose the feeling in his limbs, Ciel wasn't sure what to think anymore. His parents were coming to save him. Right? Because they were alive. Right? They couldn't be dead. Death wasn't something that happened to people he knew. But as his eyes slowly began to close, he knew. They were gone. They were dead, and they weren't coming back, and they wouldn't—no, they couldn't—save him, because they were dead and they weren't coming back, ever. And he was next.

But no. As blood trickled from his body and dripped onto the floor, Ciel knew. Even if "death" happened to his parents, it wouldn't happen to him. No. Even if "death" had managed to take the only people he cared about, it couldn't take him, because "death" simply did not happen to him. He'd only lived for ten measly years, and he had things that he still had to do. And even if no one came to save him, he would fight "death" back, because he was the only one who could save himself, even if that meant killing others in the process.

But someone did come to save him, in a way.

The monster -no, the demon- had appeared. It had come to help him. It had healed him, and made all the bad people die. He'd seen it with his own bloodied eyes. After, the demon had proposed a deal. It could hunt down the ones who had murdered his parents for him. It could protect him from "death". And, most importantly, it couldn't die. It would always save him. It couldn't leave him alone. And so Ciel accepted the deal.

After that, he never really forgot death. It had simply become part of the day-to-day, something that happened to his enemies, those who dared oppose the Earl Phantomhive. Sometimes, it even happened to people he knew, really knew. Death was always there, lurking in the background, watching. _Always_ watching.

Still, it couldn't hurt him. Oh, he knew it was coming for him eventually. After all, he had made a deal with a being who was its best customer. Still, that was in the future, when he'd accomplished everything he'd set out to do. Ciel was still untouchable.

It was only after he'd avenged his parents' murders that Ciel really thought of death. He knew that it was finally his turn. That all-knowing, all-seeing monster would swallow him up, and then he, too, would be "dead". He'd known it was coming. After all, he'd been the one to contract with a demon, in an attempt to control his own fate, decide his own "death". As Sebastian helped him off the boat and onto the island, Ciel felt that it was all too real.

The journey into the heart of the place gave him plenty of time to think. For the first time, he wondered what would happen to him after he died.

That one day, eight years ago, his father had told him that people's souls went to Heaven when they died. He'd been to church, been raised Catholic. He'd been told he'd see his parents again after he died. But after all he'd done, after all the people he'd killed, it was ridiculous to assume he'd be allowed into Heaven, if such a place truly existed. Even if he did manage to get in, would his parents even recognize him as their once-innocent son?

After a while, he just gave up. Even though there was no definite way of knowing, it was very likely that there'd be nothing left of him after Sebastian ate his soul. Just emptiness.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached their final destination, and Sebastian set him down on a small stone bench. The demon drew back, and looked at his master for the last time.

As Sebastian drew closer, Ciel closed his eyes. He was strangely fine with this outcome. In a way, it suited him. Death would come on his terms, and no one else's.

He had been the one to choose.


	2. Of Princes and Dragons

**The music for this chapter is "A Diabolic Waltz" from the Kuroshitsuji soundtrack. **

**"Of Princes and Dragons" is different from anything I've ever written before, so it might not be all that good. Still, I have high hopes.**

**Anyways, I was just trying to imagine what Elizabeth was feeling when Ciel was taken by the cult, and it turned into this.**

**Enjoy!**

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Of Princes and Dragons

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a prince stuck in a tall stone tower.

The prince often wondered why. After all, he argued, wasn't that role usually reserved for slightly feeble yet determined girls with abnormally long hair? Even though he _did_ happen to be physically weak and exceedingly determined, he was very much a boy, and his hair was of a respectably short length. There was no justifiable, fair reason for him to be stuck there: it was simply a cruel twist of fate. And no matter how much time he tried reasoning with the tower and its guardian, they refused to acknowledge their mistake and release him.

There were two ways out of the tower. One was a window. However, the tower was very, very tall, and even attempting to jump or climb out was akin to suicide. Although the prince did have many flaws, a death wish was not among them. And for all his frailty and determination, his hair only measured six inches at its very longest, so it offered him no other means of escape.

The other way out of the tower was through a door. It was a very plain, inoffensive, though slightly charred wooden door. It should have been easily accessible by the prince or any foolish outsiders seeking a way in. However, the door was guarded by a very large, white, scaly dragon. It had long, hooked, blackened claws that glistened with blood, curved fangs dripping with gleaming poison, a ridiculously sharp tail, and its beady, cruel eyes glistened wickedly. The dragon also breathed fire, and took great pleasure in marking the skin of anyone who dared approach it. It was, in a word, cliché.

For one reason or another, many courageous knights had come to slay the dragon and gain access to the tower. The prince didn't understand why. While he was handsome, he was perpetually disagreeable and foul-tempered. The prince also harbored a particularly frightening penchant for temper tantrums. He was also male. All in all, he wasn't the usual reason knights risked their lives to kill dragons. Still, he didn't complain. After all, escape was escape, no matter who was offering.

Of all the knights who'd visited the tower, there was one in particular who was determined to slay the dragon and free the prince. The knight was in love with the captive, despite the fact that she had never actually met him. She would have done anything to free him and make him happy, and had already tried to do so by employing a number of means, which, strangely enough, included painting her armor a vivid shade of pink.

The knight also happened to be a princess. The princess didn't understand how she'd ended up a knight. That role, she reasoned, was supposed to belong to the exceedingly courageous, loyal and handsome prince. Even though she _was_ exceedingly loyal and courageous, she was very much a girl, and a beautiful one at that. There was no logical reason for her to be a knight. Still, she didn't complain. After all, the prince would be hers in the end, and he would sweep her off her feet and give her her much-deserved happily ever after.

The princess had tried to kill the dragon a great many times. Each time, she failed miserably. After all, a five-foot girl had nothing on a great white dragon, even if the she _was_ expertly brandishing two sharpened rapiers.

The prince tried to warn her to stay away. There was nothing she could do to save him, and she'd just end up hurt. But wasn't much he could do from the top of his tower, except drop some of his few, prized posessions on the dragon's head each time the princess decided to go ahead and kill the dragon anyway.

This routine had held steady for a while. The princess would arrive, and the prince would yell indistinguishable words from the top of his tower. The princess would then shug her pretty shoulders and attack anyway. In the end, despite having sustained a mild concussion from having had heavy objects dropped on its head from a great height, the dragon would manage to drive the princess away. She would return the next day, always ready to fight for her prince and his love.

This all changed when another special knight arrived. His armor was so rusty it was almost black, though it was still perfectly functional. For some odd reason, he insisted on fighting with silverware, even though there was a perfectly good swordsmith in the next town over whose prices were rather reasonable. He also introduced himself to the princess as "one hell of a knight", a rather surprising title she rather surprisingly accepted.

The knight liked to fight on his own. The princess suggested that they should work as a team, despite the fact that she found him determinedly creepy. He declined, and she informed him of his imminent defeat. The princess had the uncanny impression that he was smirking behind that black helmet of his, but she shrugged it off and went to find a comfortable seat to observe said knight's guaranteed defeat.

To the princess's shock, the knight made quick work of the dragon. It only took a couple dozen well-placed forks and knives as well as a well-dropped encyclopedia before it keeled over and exhaled its last spark. She found the whole thing rather anticlimatic.

The princess-knight had just recovered from her shock when the black knight exited the tower with her beloved prince. She stared open-mouthed. Her prince was just as handsome as she knew he'd be. And even though _she_ hadn't been the one to actually save him, she was sure she'd earned some points for effort. He seemed like the gentle, kind, and courteous type who would do that kind of thing. After all, he _was_ a prince.

But by the time she'd thought all of that through, the knight and the prince had already started walking away.

The princess ran after them. She couldn't be sure of the black knight's intentions, but she knew that there was something about him that was slightly... off.

And besides, he was _her_ prince! What right did the other knight have to take him away from her? After all, she had tried to rescue him daily for about a month! The black knight had no right to just show up and steal her prince away. So the princess ran faster.

But they just kept getting farther and farther away. No matter how hard she ran, she just couldn't catch up. She ran and ran and ran, but her prince and the knight were disappearing before her very eyes.

The princess ran until her feet were sore, her legs ached, her head swam, and her lungs felt like they were about to explode. She tried to chase after them, but her legs collapsed under her and she fell, gasping and trembling, to the ground. She couldn't believe what was happening. She was losing her prince, dammit!

But there simply wasn't anything the princess-knight could do. Her legs felt like jelly, and there were black spots swimming in her vision from lack of air. She couldn't even get up off the ground.

Still, she was a determined girl, one that did not like to lose. She swore,_ she swore_ that she would find her prince again. She would find him, and keep him safe, and love him, and he would love her, and they would get their damn happy ending.

But... What was **_that_**? The black knight was carrying her beloved toward something in the distance, something blurry she couldn't quite see. When she squinted, she could almost make it out.

Was it... a tower?

No that couldn't be. That was impossible, not to mention illogical. Why would the black knight go to the trouble of killing a dragon to free the prince only to trap him again? It made absolutely no sense. Yet, as she narrowed her eyes and peered off into the distance, she was quite sure that it _was_ a tower, a tall stone one nearly identical to the one they'd just left.

The princess was so angry she could burst. How _dare_ he! How dare that knight take her prince away from her, and cage him again! He would pay, he _would_, once she managed to get her hands on him. It was only a matter of time! She would make him _pay_! She could practically feel liquid rage bubbling inside of her, fighting to get out. That arrogant, evil, cruel, horrible bastard! That treacherous, lying, winged, wicked turncoat!

Wait. Winged?

The princess blinked, and looked again. She couldn't believe her eyes.

Two large, powerful, scaly black wings had sprouted from inside the black knight's armor. The princess-knight wiped her eyes with her tiny hands, but the result was the same. Somehow, almost without her noticing, the man had grown wings. But that was impossible. Men didn't grow wings. That was something that simply didn't happen. Men just did _not_ up and grow wings!

But the black knight _had_ grown wings. And he wasn't done there.

As the princess watched, slumped on the ground, the knight grew larger. He sprouted up and out until he was half as tall as the tower and almost as thick. He was gigantic. Now, the princess was sure she was hallucinating. She scrubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her armor, but nothing changed.

The knight had grown wings, and he was now so large he could probably crush her with one blow from those great black-clawed feet of his.

The princess wasn't exactly sure _when_ the knight had gotten claws. It was probably around the same time he had grown a tail.

She didn't know exactly what he was, but she was pretty sure it wasn't human. The creature was a monstrosity, and it held her prince delicately in between its hooked, black claws. There was absolutely nothing the girl could do to save the man she so dearly loved. She felt as if the world had betrayed her.

"_Loved_?", whispered her treacherous mind. "Did you ever really, truly love him?". The princess didn't know. Of course, she didn't actually know the prince at all, but she was sure that she would love him once she did. "But what if you never really got to know him? Would you still love him then?"

Suddenly, she felt more confused than ever. She did love her prince, right? Yes, she did, of course she did. After all, he was her prince. "Are you sure?", her mind taunted. "You never met him. How can he be _your_ prince if you don't even know him?".

The princess started to cry. She _didn't_ know him, and he might not even be her prince at all. For all she knew, the prince be with that monstrous creature of his own accord! He might not want to be saved at all! But even as tears streamed down her flushed face, she realized that how she felt didn't matter.

The prince and his black knight were too far away. She could never reach them, not if she got up and ran for days on end. It was too late.

There was nothing she could do but cry and watch her prince fade away as the sunlight reflected off of his dragon's glossy scales.

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**Bonus points if you guessed what the first dragon was!**

**Thanks for reading! As usual, questions/requests are welcome! **

**Please review and tell me what you think!**

**EDIT: that was shite. I'm working on re-doing it.**

**Until next week!**

**-Deceit.**


	3. Cerberus

**A/N: Finally! I wrote this forever ago but never got around to editing it. Apparently, I had to wait till 3:00 a.m. last night to stop procrastinating. Anyways, here it is!**

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**The music for this chapter is "Everybody Lies" by Jason Walker, "Nice Day" by the Romanovs and "Bullets" by Tunng.**

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Cerberus

Darkness descended upon the manor, and its velvet-lipped maw swallowed the place whole. The night was cloudless and clear, and a light breeze danced through the fresh country air. The moon hung peacefully in her temporary abode, and all was quiet.

Still, Ciel couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that he was afraid, no. Dreams held no power over him: the horrors they depicted were but mere shadows of the past, and, like shadows, would fade when morning came. He was not afraid of the monsters that lurked in the darkness, for what is a monster to another? Restlessness was not responsible for his torment, either. If confronted, it would probably reveal itself to be something akin to guilt.

Ciel had managed to close his most recent case today. He'd investigated a murder, and had tracked the culprit down. It had been a father, trying to protect his family. Sebastian had killed him.

Still, Ciel could still hear the man's voice in his ears, pleading, _begging_ for his life, for his safety, for his children who were waiting with their mother in the next room over.

This was nothing new to the boy. Everyone he'd ever killed had had a family. They'd had friends, lovers, hopes and dreams, aspirations, things they'd wanted to do that they'd never be able to. They'd all died, not by Sebastian's hand but by his own word.

Sometimes, they spoke to him, late at night when everyone else was asleep. Dozens upon dozens of voices, crying, screaming, laughing, accusing. He recognized each and every one. They talked loudly over each other, fighting for his attention, for a shred of remorse, a hint of regret.

They were especially loud that night. Most of them wept pitifully in the background. A few had banded together and were launching insults at the walls of his mind, one after another, trying to split his skull. Some stood alone, glaring silently at him from within the confines of his own head, and he could feel their hatred boring into his mind as vividly as it had when they were alive.

They all had something in common, though. Ever so often, they would stop their various torments and ask _how_. How he could kill them, condemn them for being murderers, when he was a murderer as well.

He was their judge, their jury, and their executioner, and yet he was every bit as guilty as they were. What gave him the right to play God? How did he get away with such hypocrisy?

Simply put, it was his duty. It was a flimsy excuse, yes, but a powerful one all the same. It was his duty to guard the underworld, just like his father had done before him, and _his_ father before him.

The world of shadows and the world of light were complete opposites. One was bad, one was good, and they both were cruel in their own ways. It was impossible for them to coexist: if left unchecked, they would destroy each other completely. So Ciel kept them apart. Like a great guard dog, he protected the gates that seperated the two realms. He kept them apart, and yet they were still only an arm's length away.

Of course, this came at a price. Herculean efforts always did. The guard dog held the gates to the two worlds closed, and was left all alone. Guarding the gates was a solitary job: it always had been, and always would be.

The people on the other sides of the gates spoke to him, though. Some tried to crawl through the bars to join him. Some threw things: mostly there were weapons, but sometimes there were other objects too, like pictures and flowers and gifts and other pretty things he kept.

Sometimes the dog would try to respond. To reason with them, to offer thanks or compassion. But they didn't understand what he was trying to say. They spoke the languages of their kind, and he spoke another language altogether. They just kept going in circles.

Sometimes, the guard dog felt like it was all too much to bear.

So he buried his face in his pillow and cried himself to sleep.

He'd kill again in the morning.

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**Please review and tell me what you think! As always, requests and suggestions are gladly accepted. I know I've got some purple prose in there,but I couldn't bring myself to take it out.**


	4. To Forgive and Forget

**A/N: And thus another one-shot was born! All wierdness aside, part 4 is finally done. **

**I'm currently obsessed with "Bullets" by Tunng, so that's the music for this chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

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To Forgive and Forget

It wasn't working.

Ciel's hand hovered over the paper, waiting hesitantly for the words he needed to appear in his mind. They didn't. After a moment, he sighed tiredly and put down his quill.

He _wanted_ to write, he did, but the words just wouldn't come. They cowered, hidden deep in the dark recesses of his mind. Fear had knotted them into an incomprehensible jumble of print, and they were unable to untangle themselves and make the perilous leap onto the page. Ciel glared at the untouched, pristine parchment, as if the sheer force of his frustration could shove his jumbled thoughts out of his mind and dump them down onto the page.

It wasn't working.

Ciel let out a groan. He closed his eyes and cradled his head between his hands, elbows resting on his mahogany desk. He ran his hands through his thick hair and sighed.

It was an impossible task. Still, there was nothing to be done. He owed them this at least, and Phantomhives did not leave their debts unpaid, no matter what the cost. He owed them _so much_. They had cared for him, been there for him when no one else would. Where everyone else had cowered in fear of his name, they had supported him, comforted him, _loved_ him. What they had given him was priceless. It was a debt he could never repay.

And now, he was going to die. He knew that. Nothing could be done. But before he went and did the inexcusable, he had to give them all he could. All that was left of him to all that would be left of them.

Elizabeth. Frances. Finny. Bard. Mey-Rin. Tanaka. _Elizabeth_. They would all wonder what happened to him. If he had died, or lived, or run, or left. But eventually they would realize that he was gone, and that he was never coming back. Ciel gave a small, hitching laugh.

Yes, he'd be gone. The bastard would eat his soul, and he would be gone, all gone, never to come back, _never coming back_. Never ever. Ciel sat, shaken by his strange, strangled laughter, and a tear plopped down onto the parchment.

He heaved a breath and twisted his mouth into a smile. They would all forget about him. Sure, they would all feel the loss. Some more than others, certainly, but they all would be bound by grief. Still, they would heal. Time would wear away at their sadness, and the ropes that held them down would rot and fade away. They would move on with their lives. They would forget about him, forget about the strange, sad little earl they'd all thought they'd known.

He knew that. And it was his job to help them along. He could never repay them for the love they'd given him, but he could give them closure. He could help them move on.

_But it just wasn't working_.

Ciel just didn't know what to write. The best thing for them would be an explanation, a straightforward, clear-cut answer to all their doubts and worries. But he couldn't give them that.

After all, what would he say?

"Hello, my perfect butler you all know and adore is actually a demon I contracted to avenge my parents, and he's hellbent on eating my soul. By the way, he'll probably have slaughtered me by the time you read this letter" ?

Ciel's lips curled into a facsimile of a smile, and the strange, shaky laugh fought its way back through his lips. They would think he had lost his mind, or that the letter was a joke, or a fake! Either way, they would be distraught, and the letter would only have increased his debt. He couldn't have that.

He couldn't say goodbye, either. They would think that he had left them or been kidnapped, and would search for him relentlessly. They would be tormented by his absence, always thinking that there was something they could have done. Ciel knew that. He knew them too well, to well for his own good and theirs.

Despite all the power and influence that came with his position, Ciel couldn't arrange for word of his death to reach their ears. The people close to him weren't tuned into the underworld like he was, and his influence didn't stretch into legal sources. The ones who loved him knew Lau, just like they knew Sebastian, but he had no way of predicting the pair's actions after his imminent demise. They were just too unpredictable.

There wasn't anything he could say. Ciel hissed out a breath, simmering anger and frustration coursing through him.

With a sudden, furious cry, he drew up his hand, and stabbed the dripping quill straight through the parchment, nailing it into the desk underneath and coloring the wood with bluish-black ink.

He breathed shakily. In and out. In and out. The pot of ink had overturned when he'd assaulted the bureau and the dark, thick liquid was slowly seeping out. In and out. In and out. Ciel tried to regulate his breathing, to calm himself down. In and out.

He tried to straighten the ink pot, but his hands were shaking, and his vision was blurring, and somehow it ended up broken on the floor.

In and out.

Ciel stood up, but everything was shaky, so he sat back down. If he couldn't rescue the carpet, at least he should retrieve the quill. He had to hide the evidence of his fit of temper from Sebastian. He couldn't show the demon this new low he'd sunk to. So he pulled at the quill lodged inside the wood. He yanked it out and held it in his ink-stained hands and stared.

In and out.

Why couldn't he find the words he needed? It was only one small letter. Easily written. And yet he was paralyzed, unable to speak his mind, for it was mute and had forgotten what to say.

In and out.

It just wasn't working.

Ciel stood up and the world swam before his eyes. Shakily, he bent down and retrieved the fragments of the small, glass pot that lay on the carpet. The floor was badly stained, but there was nothing to be done. But it wasn't his problem, anyway. Not anymore. Whoever came into posession of the manor next would have to deal with it. They'd probably redecorate. He hoped they wouldn't make it too tacky.

Ciel cursed. He'd allowed his mind to wander, and it was all too willing to escape from the task at hand. After all, speculation about interior decorating was much easier than planning one's last letter.

He put the broken, inky pieces of the pot on a shelf and got a new one, which he set carefully down on his desk. The world tilted on its axis, and Ciel fell heavily down into his chair.

In and out. In and out.

Just keep breathing in and out.

Ciel closed his eyes.

An hour later, when Sebastian came to get him, both he and the letter were ready.

* * *

It read:

"I'm sorry".

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Requests? Anything that could be improved? **

**Reviews are always appreciated!**

**The next chapter will be up in two weeks or less.**

**Until then :)**


	5. Games

**A/N: Yaaay! I finally got up off my lazy ass and wrote something! As promised, another one-shot.**

**"Bullets" is now officially my favorite writing music (Best. Song. Ever.), but every chapter has its own feeling, so I'll stop recommending it and give other songs their chance. **

**The music for this chapter is "Demons" by the Imagine Dragons and "China Shop" by the Romanovs. They're a great band, but no one else seems to know about them.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Games

"Check."

Ciel sighed and dragged his king over to the right. Great. Now he couldn't castle. His stained, rotting yellow armchair protested loudly as he crouched over the old, dusty chess board and stared down Sebastian's queen, racking his tired brain for a suitable strategy.

Sebastian smirked. Bringing his queen that far down the board was a risky move. Still, he'd never been one to play it safe. After all, safety was boring, and there was nothing demons hated more than boredom. Besides, seeing the exhausted child get all flustered over a game was highly entertaining.

Sebastian pushed a chipped pawn through the thin layer of grime to attack Ciel's bishop. As the boy bent his heavy head to inspect the cracked board, the butler smiled patronizingly. It would be interesting to see how the young master would react to this new threat.

Ciel frowned and sneezed. He couldn't concentrate like this. His throat was dry, itchy and sore, and it was distracting him. There was dust _everywhere_. It coated the furniture, hung on the cheap paintings, and covered the creaky floor except for where their footsteps had wiped it clean. Dry mold grew in the dark corners of the room, where the faded, yellowish wallpaper had curled up and withered. The dust in the air and the spores from the mold burned at his lungs, and he let out a hacking cough.

The small room was dark, and the only light came from the half-burnt candle on the dresser. It gave off thick, musky smoke that made Ciel's eyes water, so he closed them and pictured the board in his head.

Ciel had to find some way to save his bishop. It was in fairly good shape compared to the rest of the battered pieces, even though its wood was soft with mold in places. Besides, it was in a good offensive position, threatening the chink in Sebastian's black armor. Ciel wouldn't gain anything by taking the demon's unprotected pawn. It was, after all, just a pawn. So he decided to counterattack. But how ...?

After a moment of silent reflection, Ciel picked up his dusty knight and threatened Sebastian's queen. The boy smirked quietly. That should keep the filthy demon at bay for a while.

Still, his silent victory celebration was interrupted. It was that smell again. Sebastian really should have gotten rid of that _thing_ before now. Its pungent stink was slowly pervading the entire room.

Ciel tiredly wrinkled his pert little nose. It was absolutely _disgusting_. Even so, he didn't want to give the demon the satisfaction of knowing that that _thing_ had gotten to him. It would just have to stay crumpled up on the floor until they left this horrid place.

Sebastian was quite content with this turn of events. Seeing the child suffer was always a pleasure, though the demon couldn't quite understand how anyone could hate that lovely, enticing odor. It filled his nostrils and his mouth with such _delicious_ want...

The demon licked his lips, savoring the essence of darkness on his tongue, and lazily dragged his dented queen away.

The rest of the game passed rather too quickly for the tired boy's liking. Ciel always made sure to observe each direction the game could take, each possible outcome. He prided himself on his preparation and inpenetrable defenses. But where he took his time, Sebastian did not. That damn demon was always ready, always prepared to pounce the moment Ciel's hands left the board. _Insufferable_. And to think he'd _lost_, to a mere butler...

It was infuriating.

Sebastian liked it.

When the candle on the dresser had been fully consumed, Sebastian was ready with another. Ciel fell asleep, curled up tightly in that uncomfortable, rotting yellow armchair, and his butler kept wake across from him silently, smirking through the darkness at something only he could see. The stayed in that sad, rundown little house until morning.

Ciel woke up late. His eyelids were heavy and his vision blurred, but he fought his way out of the small, moldy armchair and stumbled heavily to the nearest window, narrowly avoiding tripping over the blackened heap on the floor. The windowpane was caked in dust and dirt, but he pressed his nose to it anyway and peered out.

The dull yellow sun was already high up above London's gray sky, and the city was awake and bustling with life. Ciel squinted and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before sticking his face to the grimy glass again. He could make out the faint outline of the crumbling warehouse across the street and the blurred shapes of wet cobblestones, but nothing more. The streets around there were still deserted, and would be until nightfall.

Ciel breathed a sigh of relief. No one had come. He was safe.

The boy let out a yawn and stretched his cramped limbs. He found a small mirror inside the dresser and ran his hands through his matted hair, trying to smooth it out somewhat before placing his eyepatch on his eye and tying the silky black string behind his head.

The door opened, and Sebastian stepped inside holding a large, wrapped package.

"Young Master, I apologize for not waking you earlier, but I am afraid our ride back to the estate has been slightly delayed," he said apologetically, or as apologetically as he could. "For the moment, I have procured the necessary ingredients for breakfast," he continued before lightly setting the white box down onto the blackened table.

Ciel opened his mouth to reply, inhaled, and then snapped it shut again before turning positively green.

"Sebastian, you can't possibly expect me to eat with... _that_ in the room," he said, waving his hand dismissively at the black, crumpled heap on the floor. "It is repulsive. Get rid of it at once."

"My Lord, you know that I cannot remove it. It would be against orders to do so."

Ciel glowered, face twitching as a slight smile danced across his butler's lips. "Fine then. But we're waiting for the coach outside. I don't want to have to spend any more time here than is strictly necessary." Sebastian smiled and bowed his head.

"Yes, my lord."

The small Earl and his loyal butler went outside and waited for the coach. The damp London air was fresh and nice compared to the dry, choking stuffiness inside, and Ciel gulped it in gladly. But the coach wasn't coming any time soon, and the young boy's presence was starting to attract unwanted attention, so he was forced to go back in while Sebastian kept watch outside.

Ciel sat back down gingerly in the dingy yellow armchair and stared at the chessboard, trying to ignore the stench emenating from the blackened heap on the floor. All the pieces were still in place from yesterday's game. The off-white king was still pinned into checkmate, held down by black's knight and queen. Ciel sighed as he slowly ran his fingers along the crack in the board, carefully avoiding the sharp splinters that stuck out from the gouge.

How had he let Sebastian beat him? Despite the butler's inhuman nature, he wasn't particularly good at chess. Ciel should have been able to checkmate him without too much effort, or at least bring the game to a stalemate. Why hadn't he won? Had his intellect dimmed, or had he been distracted?

By guilt?

Ciel looked over at the thing on the floor, and his chest constricted.

By guilt.

He had let guilt get to him. This was bad. If guilt was getting to him, interfering with his clear, rational judgement, something had to be done fast. He had humiliated himself in front of his butler, the demon. He was the Earl of Phantomhive, the King of Games, and he had lost. Ciel Phantomhive did not _lose_ games. Ciel Phantomhive did not _lose_ at _chess_!

"Young Master, the coach has arrived." Sebastian said, poking his head through the door and interrupting Ciel's silent simmering.

The boy couldn't let the demon see him like this. He couldn't show weakness, or the monster would strike. And Ciel Phantomhive _never_ forfeited.

So he took a deep, calming breath, cleared his mind, and stood up. In the end, he told himself, it didn't matter who had won at chess. A single chess match was unimportant in the long run. It was just a game. Just a game.

_And besides_, he thought, looking down at the corpse on the floor, _there are worse games to play._

* * *

**I just noticed this, but apparently I like Sebastian in black armor. There was the chink in his black armor here, and he was the Black Knight in "Of Princes and Dragons". I wonder if anyone else caught that...**

**Anyway, the chess moves in this weren't written at random. I took the beginning of the game from the Immortal Game played by played by Adolf Anderssen and Lionel Kieseritzky on the 21st of June, 1851 in London. There are videos on youtube about it if you want to find out more. There were two directions the game could have taken, and I chose to make black win.  
**

** I wanted to thank my... um... 1 faithful reviewer, promocat. It's really nice of you to take the time to comment on this! I'm glad you like it!**

**To everyone else,**

**Comments? Questions? Concerns? **

**As always, I take requests**.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Wait For Me

**A/N: This chapter is sad. At least, I thought it was. Hopefully, you will too.**

**Ciel and Elizabeth are older in this, 16 or 17-ish.**

**The music for this chapter is "Say My Name" by Within Temptation. It's absolutely gorgeous. **

* * *

Wait For Me

He's getting quieter.

It's been a year now. Twelve months, three hundred and sixty-five days. And he's still getting quieter.

Why, Ciel?

Why do you have to hide?

Whatever happened, it's over now. You're safe, Ciel. You know that, right? You're safe. And you're still hiding.

I don't know what to do, Ciel. I don't know how to make you come back. I don't even know if it's possible anymore.

I know you're in pain. Your eyes, they're tired. They're dead, Ciel. Cold, and lifeless. They didn't used to be, though. Remember? Before your parents died, before the fire. When we were little. We used to play together, you know. You remember that, right?

Right, Ciel?

I miss you. I miss the way we were, before. I miss your smile, I miss your laugh, I miss the way your warm little hands felt on my own. I miss you, Ciel. My heart's breaking, and my chest's aching, and it's all your fault, Ciel. You know that, right? I know you do.

Why do you have to go, Ciel?

Why do you have to leave me behind?

It's not fair. None of it is, really. What happened to you, Ciel?

I love you, you know. I would do anything for you, anything to get you back, to help you get through this. You can rely on me. I will _always_ be there for you. You should know that, Ciel.

We _will_ get through this, you know.

I'll help you. I will pull you out of this. I can save you, Ciel. I know I can. After all, this won't last forever. It won't, right?

I will wait for you, Ciel. When you come back from your trip, I'll be there. It doesn't matter how long you're away. I'll be the first thing you see when you get home. You'll be older, and I will too, and I'll finally know how to get you through this.

I will save you, Ciel. Just you wait.

Just wait for me, Ciel.

You'll do that.

Right?

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Concerns?**

**Reviews are always appreciated! **

**By the way, does anyone actually listen to the recommended music? Just curious. Personally, I've discovered some really amazing songs that way.**

Until next time!

-Deceit.


	7. The Voice of Doubt

**A/N: A late update, but better late than never!**

**This poem takes place just after the cult has summoned Sebastian. However, I took some liberties with the original story and changed the original chain of events a little. **

**Here's what happened: The cult summoned Sebastian, who immediately saw Ciel's deeeeeelicious soul and promptly slaughtered everyone else there. He then proceeded to propose a contract to Ciel, and is waiting for his answer. This is Ciel's doubt speaking to him about what that contract means.**

**I know the punctuation and capitalization are off in this poem, but it's a stylistic choice. I think it makes the rhythm flow better.**

**No music for this chapter, the poem has a specific rhythm of its own.**

* * *

The Voice of Doubt

Sitting in Silence  
How long 'till I reach you?  
Everything I touch just seems to fade away  
Into the Silence  
Aren't you tired of all this violence?  
Wouldn't you rather  
Live another day?

Sitting in Silence  
With Doubt by your side  
Whispering in your ear and  
Gnawing at your mind.  
You know, it'd be easier  
To forfeit before you play.  
Wouldn't you Rather  
Live another day?

Sitting in Silence  
In the dark and half alone  
God can't hear you  
High up on his throne.  
Nobody told you  
To throw your life away  
Wouldn't you rather  
Live another day?

Sitting in Silence  
Making up your mind  
Did you really think  
He'd leave you and be kind?  
Listen to me  
And tell him to go away.  
After all, Wouldn't you Rather  
Live another day?

Sitting in Silence  
As seconds tick away.  
There's no glory to be had  
In being voluntary prey.  
So give up now, won't you?  
And listen to what I say  
Now wouldn't you rather  
Live another day?

Sitting in Silence  
In this dark little cage  
Wouldn't it be better  
To let go of all this rage?  
Just listen, boy, to the Doubt in your mind!  
_See_, it'd be _easier_  
To leave this all behind!  
So be a Good Child now,  
And send him on his way.  
You _know_ that you'd Rather  
Live another day.

Sitting in Silence  
With corpses all around  
Your reason is slipping  
In this dull and numbing sound.  
So let _me_ do the thinking  
And just walk away  
See, wouldn't you Rather  
Live another day?

Sitting in Silence  
And refusing to obey  
_Just listen to me, boy_,  
Or I _swear_ that you'll pay.  
_Don't __**listen**__ to him, child!  
He will __**lead you astray!**_  
Don't you want to  
Live another day?

Sitting up in Silence  
And locking Doubt away  
You've _really_ done it now, boy,  
You'd better hope they'll pray  
For your poor **_wretched_** soul  
Already wasting away  
You _really_ should have chosen  
To live another day.

* * *

**Another chapter done! By the end of this, I hope to be up to 50ish or something like that. Then again, I might write something with a plot...**

**I've already PM'd the people who asked me last chapter, but I'll write this here for anyone who didn't and was wondering. The corpse last chapter did not belong to anyone important. It was part of an assignment from the Queen, and Ciel disposed of it. I didn't think assigning an identity would help the point I was trying to convey.**

**Questions? Comments? Critiques? Just ask! Requests are welcome.**

**And reviews make me happy.**

Thanks to everyone who's followed, favorited, or reviewed! You guys make my day.

Until next chapter,

-Deceit.


	8. And the snake dressed all in black

**A/N: I was working on a drabble, but had to stop for work. Naturally, that means I wrote a poem.**

**Sebastian's POV, everyone. I hope I got his creepiness down right. Never liked the fellow.**

**IMPORTANT: the snake in this poem has absolutely nothing to do with Snake from the manga. **

**I don't like recommending music for poems, so no music this chapter.**

* * *

And the snake dressed all in black

Sleep, little child,  
Sleep well while you can,  
Here, home and safe  
from the whims of God and Man.  
I will protect you, care for you, keep you safe and well  
And when the time comes, I will drag you straight to Hell.

Sleep, sweet child,  
Through the dark and wind and cries  
Of the men who'd turned your Truth  
Into Misery and Lies.  
I imagine you'd thought you'd be there to hear them scream  
But when it comes to demons, we're exactly what we seem.

Sleep, dear child, your body small and frail  
I can already picture of what I'll make you ail—  
But I digress, my lord, I must go prepare your tea  
This blend's particularly wonderful,  
I do hope you'll agree.

Oh, Sleep your last peacefully, my child  
For you'll find out when you wake  
That when it comes to poison  
You can never trust a snake.

* * *

**What do you think? Liked it? Thought it was crap? I need feedback.**

**Questions? Comments? Concerns?**

**As always, all requests are accepted.**

And reviews make me very, very happy.

Until next chapter,

-Deceit.


	9. (For when all is said and Over)

**A/N: Another poem. I'm writing too many poems. But I'll get back to drabbles soon. If anyone's willing to give me suggestions...? *hopes***

**Since it's another poem, you guessed it, there's no music. This one is a different style from the others, though. **

**The title is tentative. I'm not really satisfied with it, so it'll probably be changed later on.**

* * *

(For when all is said and Over)

We're all monsters here  
Drowning in lost dreams  
Half hoping  
We were  
Closer to confessionals  
And it's so  
Hazy from here  
Can you see your way out?  
Sit down and tinker  
With the remnants  
Of everything  
But it's so broken  
And I don't know  
If life isn't never-ending  
But the maze is too big  
And the hedges are overgrown  
And falling, falling, falling,  
And to sing  
Like birds in a cage  
More in sorrow than in anger  
And I can still pretend  
The monsters stayed under the bed  
Way back when  
The earth was solid  
And I wasn't falling, floating, falling  
And never hit softly  
To be  
So wise so young so foolish  
Too foolish  
For one could smile  
And be a villain  
But never hit softly  
And the hedges, the hedges  
Are overgrown.

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Concerns?**

**As always, requests/ideas are accepted. And reviews make me happy. **

**I'll be putting something else up within the next couple days.**


	10. Be

**A/N: I'm baaaaack! After a long week of no inspiration whatsoever, I came up with this. And don't worry, it's not ****_another_**** poem. **

**I trust that by now you all know that any unnamed "he"'s are Ciel. This takes place just after his assisted escape from captivity**.

**The music for this chapter is "Fondu au Noir" by Coeur de Pirate. ****  
**

* * *

Be

He was free. He was _free_. _He was free_.

The night was fresh, the air was clear, the stars winked brightly from the heavens, and the small boy wanted to swallow the world whole.

It had been so long— so, _so_ long since he'd been outside. And the world, the huge, vast _enormousness_ of it all was overwhelming.

Had the stars really been so _tiny_ before? He didn't remember— no, he _couldn't_ remember, because he'd never looked, _really_ looked, and _oh God_ they were high up and far away and beautiful. And the sky, it was _bigger_ than before, that he knew, but there was something _different_ about it, something lonely, something not-quite-forgotten he couldn't quite place, but it didn't matter, because he was free, free, _free_—

_And the air_! It was _smooth_, and _fresh_, and felt like silk against his raw, bloody skin, and that hurt, but he pushed it away and ignored it, because it was _air_! It was _air_, and it was _moving_, and it didn't smell like blood or rot or children crumpled up, it smelled _clean_ and _fresh_ and _good_, and it didn't scream like all the dying things.

The world was _big_ again, not all caged and squashed up and tucked away, it stretched out and out and out, it was big, huge, immense, gargantuan, _too_ big, and he wasn't sure if it was real, and he wasn't sure if he wanted it to be, because small was _safe_ and big was scary (_don't think about the bad people, the big bad people_), but, for the moment, it just _was_. And he _wanted_ it, all of it, because he was _out_ and he was _free_ and it was his world now, and he would have it and eat it all with his eyes and mouth and lips and teeth.

And when his feet touched the ground again, they were sore and naked and wobbly and couldn't support his weight, so he crumpled onto the grass and crawled about on all fours, _touching_ and _pressing_ and _grabbing_, fisting the grass and yanking it up in big green handfuls (green! It was _green_, and he hadn't remembered green, just red, brown, black and blue and white, so much white, too many in white, closing in, _closi_—! _No, no, forget about that, don't go there, don't think about it, don't think about it and it'll go away_) and feeling the earth between his fingers and pressed under his fingernails, clawing at it because he had to _feel_, to _touch_, to—

Taste? The boy wondered what it tasted like. The grass was edible, right? A lot of things were edible, _too many_ things were edible (and he still doesn't know whose bones they made him eat), and he was _famished_, starving like a beggar on the street. He hadn't eaten since he'd stolen the other boy's bread, or was it a girl, because you could never really _tell_ underneath the coating of (_no, no, not again, not going there_), but it had been bread (burnt, and the other child had fought him for it, and he still had the gash on his face to prove it, but it had been _bread_, and They never gave him bread, _never_, and that hadn't been _fair_, he'd needed to fix it). But the grass looked green and _good_. Almost like candy. He was hungry, and he _wanted_ some, (and he could practically taste the succulent sweetness already), so he reached out and _yanked_. He had to _taste_ it, to taste something again...

So the boy pulled and tugged and shoved fistfuls after fistfuls of grass and soil in, chewing frantically, desperately, trying to taste, to _taste_, to _taste_.

And when it all came back up half an hour later and he passed out from exhaustion and blood loss, his silent, demonic observer picked him up and carried him away.

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Critiques? As always, suggestions/requests are accepted. **

**And reviews make me one happy little author :) ConCrit please?**


	11. Throneroom, or The Finale

**A/N: No, this isn't the finale for this collection. Just a chapter title.**

**Basically, this takes place in an alternate timeline where the Queen alone is responsible for Ciel's tragedy. This is the inevitable final showndown, or finale, written from her point of view. Because quiet finales are the best ones of all.**

**It's poem...ish, so no music.**

* * *

Throneroom, or The Finale.

Something's different.  
Growing  
Shifting  
Coiling  
As the clock slows down  
Whispering its  
Tick Tock  
Tick Tock  
Tick Tock  
Echoing  
Into empty numbness  
Into the vast  
Plane of silence  
As tired eyes meet  
And the pieces click a different way  
And as checkmate fast approaches  
She realizes  
That she always knew  
(She always feared)  
It would end like this  
Wouldn't it?  
Because Control  
Is a funny thing  
And sometimes it slips  
Or flees  
Or walks out the door  
Having been ordered  
To Burn Them All  
Even the Child  
Who now has come  
When the guards are gone  
Because it would be pointless  
To resist  
The inevitable  
So she sits on her throne  
And closes her eyes  
And listens  
To the hero's monologue  
As if in a play  
And listens  
To accusations cold and bloodless  
Of crimes  
She couldn't have commited  
But did anyway  
Because nothing  
Not her crown  
Not her throne  
Not her country  
Can save her now  
And when her time has come  
And her Prince of Denmark's speech is over  
And he asks her one last question  
After years  
Of preparation  
And faithful  
Loyal servitude  
His one last question  
And perhaps  
Just maybe  
The most important  
Inquiry  
As to why? How could you? You're the Queen! I trusted you! Why would you kill them?  
She realizes  
She doesn't  
Even remember  
The answer.

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Critiques? As always, requests/suggestions are accepted. **

**Drabbles VS poems? Which do you guys enjoy more?**

**ConCrit is sorely needed, and reviews make me happy :)**

Until next week,

-Deceit**  
**


	12. Love

**A/N: I'll probably be uploading a drabble later this week. For right now, here's a . . . You know what, I have absolutely no f***ing clue what this is. **

**Whatever it is, it's too short to merit a music selection.**

* * *

Love

The boy thinks love is a weakness  
a poison  
administered by the gentlest of hands  
an unnecessary distraction  
for the weak  
and yet

The girl thinks love is her strength  
her purpose  
her calling  
the most beautiful thing in the world  
and yet

The man thinks love is a delusion  
a fable  
a torturous denial  
of reality  
a comforting lie  
indulged in  
by the strongest of souls  
and the most scrumptious of tear-stained masters

and yet

* * *

**Tell me what you think!**

**UPDATE: wait...what? This little sh*t of a chapter is now officially the most-viewed chapter of my story. Well then. That's kinda discouraging.**


	13. Nary A Soul (Silent Conversations, I )

**I'm back! Life's been a bit overwhelming recently and I'm currently betaing a monster-sized project, but I have no plans to abandon this fic. Nothing pisses me off more than an unexplainedly abandoned story. **

**As per the request of the one reviewer who answered the "drabbles vs poems" question, I've written up this little creature. It's the first of a series I've dubbed the Silent Conversations trilogy. The three parts can all be read independantly (they have no real connection except for the basic feeling), and I'll write parts Two and Three sooner or later. **

**The music for this chapter is "White Flag" by the Romanovs and "Who Will Save You Now" by Les Friction.**

* * *

Nary a Soul

(Silent Conversations Trilogy)

* * *

_The human heart has hidden treasures,_

_In secret kept, in silence sealed;_

_The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,_

_Whose charms were broken if revealed._

_—_Charlotte Brontë, "Evening Solace".

* * *

The morning is young, and powdery sunlight trickles in reluctantly through the parlor windows. They're open, but no one's around to peer inside or indulge in any tremulous eavesdropping. There are no spies. There are no witnesses. None at all.

Or there wouldn't have been, if it hadn't been for one tiny, earnestly anxious little girl who'd come to wish her favorite fiancé a very happy birthday.

"I knew you'd surrender eventually."

"Huh. You _would_ see it that way."

"Are you acting bitter now, young Master? I never would have imagined..."

"Your sarcasm is enlightening. Please do continue, Sebastian. Any other wonderous insights you'd like to share?"

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid."

Silence. Welcome, but not quite comfortable, like sitting down on a hard, rickety old stool after a day's exhaustive labor. The curtains flutter out as a small breeze blows into the room, brushing accross its occupants' faces as a master painter brushes his tableau's finishing stroke. The girl nestles herself behind the drapes, curling herself into a tight little ball and hoping desperately she won't be seen.

She didn't mean to intrude. But the entire estate was deserted, with nary a soul to be seen. Finny, Bard and Mey-Rin were all oddly absent, leaving the manor with an empty, creepy air she was entirely unaccustomed to. Nobody had answered the front door when she'd knocked—repeatedly, and hard, too—so she'd assumed that Sebastian had been out as well. And since her fiancé wouldn't go anywhere without his omnipresent "right hand", so to speak, Lizzy had decided that they'd all gone out on some errand or other.

But there was still that _feeling_. A strange sensation in her gut that told her to stay. Lizzy didn't know exactly what compelled her to skulk around the estate, looking to poke or prod her way in, looking for Ciel. Something was not quite right. No. Something was wrong, very wrong. Call it luck, call it a woman's intuition, call it whatever you must. But whatever it was, it most definitely was what let her find the window. And what compelled her to stay.

"Was it all a lie? Everything you've said or done. Was it a lie?"

"Now, now, young Master. There are some trees one mustn't bark up."

"Don't condescend to me."

"Ah, but what would you do with the answer? It's far too late to do you any good, not that it could have done so in the first place. It might damage your psyche."

"A little late for that, isn't it?"

"Never, my Lord."

"Tell me."

"There are some things one mustn't know. Are you sure you're willing to risk it? The consequences might be dire."

"..."

"I've come to notice that your bark is often bigger than your bite, my Lord."

"Do be quiet."

What are they talking about? What was a lie? She doesn't understand. They banter easily, as if engaging in routine parlor talk, but she can't help feeling as if there's something she's missing. Some meaning, taut and strained, hidden under layers of easy familiarity. She can feel it. She listens.

"I'm curious, my Lord. May I pose a question?"

"You'll ask whether or not I grant you permission."

"Did you ever think there was a way out?"

"Of what?"

"Do you truly need the answer to that?

" ... No."

"Well then, young Master?"

"No."

"Why not answer? Keeping secrets won't serve you any purpose now."

"Must you remind me constantly? Besides, I was answering your query, not refusing it. No. No, I never thought there was a way out. I made a contract with a demon, sealed it in blood. Only an idiot would hope for escape. Do you take me for a fool, Sebastian?"

"Not in the slighest."

"Liar."

"Only perhaps."

"Besides, why the sudden inquiry into the human psyche? You've had plenty of time for your questions before now."

"I find most of my answers like this, young Master. I've often found that prey reveal the most after they've been caught."

"..."

"I can't seem to get it quite right, can I?"

And again, silence. Not the same as before, no. This silence is different. It's tense, anxious, ill at ease. The silence where the beast contemplates his kill. The silence of a murderer's mark when heavy fingers squeeze a little too hard. The silence of a graveyard in the early morning. It isn't a good silence.

The eavesdropper senses this, and endeavors to make her breathing quieter. She's not quite sure what she'd do should she be discovered. She's never spied on Ciel before. Spying is not something proper young ladies do. She's sure the consequences would be dire, and yet she can't muster the resolve or the courage to flee. Something keeps Lizzy there, rooting her to the spot behind the window, pushing her to decipher the seemingly straightforward conversation happening in front of her.

"Must you always speak in terms of the hunter and hunted? There is more to humanity than cheap food for those like _you_."

"Is there now?"

"..."

"Now, now, my young Lord. You aren't going to go spouting some ridiculous spiel about the good of humanity, are you? How there's some innate goodness to people that just needs to be dug up?"

"A gem, rough and unpolished, but a gem nonetheless."

"Potential, purpose, meaning, a raison d'être for every human being that just needs to be given time in order to reach full bloom."

"Yes, we're all wonderful creatures..."

"Most definitely."

"...when it comes time for a snack."

"That as well."

"Tactful as ever, Sebastian. Do you ever let the mask slip? I wonder what you're truly like, and if I knew, if I'd still want to know you then."

"Mask? Surely you jest, my Lord. You of all people should know, especially given your current... _condition_. Besides, why the sudden inquiry into the demonic psyche? You've had plenty of time to pose your questions before now."

"I've found that the hunter is often most honest once he's done away with his prey."

"..."

Silence. It's not a bad silence, or a good one either. Neither comfortable nor awkward. It's the silence of the wily swindler calculating his next profit. It's the silence of the manipulator rounding the edges of the conversation. It's the silence of odds, the silence of stakes. It's the silence of the damned.

Somehow, the girl senses this from her hiding place just outside the window. So, as the silence lifts and the talk begins again, she musters the dregs of her courage and peeks over the windowsill.

The room is bathed in sunlight. She blinks and squints, resisting the urge to lift her hand up and shield her eyes, knowing that even the slightest unnecessary movement might give her away.

As she hears them continue to talk, she peers around the room, trying quickly, desperately to find it. What's wrong. Why she came. The feeling of intense wrongness that's been eating away at her insides ever since she arrived. What is it? Why? And so she looks.

Two men sit opposite from each other. One's eyes are open in intense contemplation, the other's closed in rest. One posits himself in the most impeccable of postures, the other slumps awkwardly in his seat. One's mouth moves animatedly, the other's lips are closed and blue. One man is alive, and the other is dead.

She isn't sure whether to trust her heart, her mind, or the little voice screaming at her to _run, Run, RUN._

Two men sit opposite from each other. Two voices only belong to one. After all, only one's ever been talking.

She runs.

* * *

**Dedicated to my good friend T. Hope you liked it!**

Basically, this was based on her suggestion that Sebastian deal with Ciel's death in his own way. Being the morbid little sicko I am, I decided to have him have a conversation with Ciel's cold dead corpse.

**What do you guys think? I really need ConCrit.**

**I'm looking for requests and suggestions for the rest of the trilogy. I have a few ideas, but any input is appreciated :)**


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